


Asthma

by Somerandomauthorrr



Category: Avengers
Genre: Asthma, Asthma attack, Bucky has issues, Everyone’s alive, FUCK endgame, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attack, Post-Civil War, Pre-War Bucky, Sad if you squint, Steve Has Issues, Steve and Bucky live together, Stucky - Freeform, Tiny Angst, asshole coaches, bucky loses his shit, bucky trying to hide his gay, fuck infinity war, inhalers, pre-serum steve, really gay, steve has asthma, steve is a stubborn bitch, that shit never happened, we boppin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 00:26:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18727948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somerandomauthorrr/pseuds/Somerandomauthorrr
Summary: Steve was having an asthma attack. He was having an asthma attack and Bucky wasn’t there. He’d been on the couch and he wasn’t there when he woke up and he was having anasthma attack.Bucky spent so many years comforting Steve when he had an asthma attack, he knows exactly what to do. Maybe.





	Asthma

**Author's Note:**

> Steve being asthmatic and Bucky constantly comforting him
> 
> Only sad if you squint, but it’s mostly fluff

February, 1932

“Come on Rogers, pick it up!”   
His coach’s voice echoed through the yard, reverberating painfully in his ears. His legs burned and his lungs were on fire, but he was adamant about finishing this lap. He had survived the past few, and he could do one more. If Bucky could do it, so could he.   
Each muscle in his body was begging him to stop. His fingertips were fuzzy and his head felt like it was being bashed in with a brick. He should’ve stopped about two laps ago, but he wasn’t willing to be so weak. He had to finish. He had to finish this lap. He didn’t want to look this weak in front of Bucky.   
“Rogers, hurry it up-“ “come on coach, lighten up. He’s tryin’.” Bucky glared at the older man, having finished his set minutes ago. He ripped away his offending gaze to watch Steve, who currently looked like he was going to drop dead. His face was bright red and his chest was moving too fast for it to appear normal.   
“Hey Steve, I think you should call it quits.” “No! I can…I gotta…”   
His vision was spotted, darkening at the edges. He’d simply overexerted himself, but it seemed worse than that. He couldn’t breathe. He was a few feet from the finish and he couldn’t breathe. Dear god, he wasn’t breathing. He wasn’t breathing.   
“Rogers!”   
They all watched as Steve collapsed on the ground, Bucky racing to the fallen student.   
He pulled him up by his shoulders, trying to force him into a sitting position. “Hey, you’re okay Steve. Just breathe for me.”   
He wheezed out a laugh, quickly regretting it. He’d exhaled any air he had left, desperately trying to replenish it.   
“Anybody got his inhaler?” “It’s…office.”   
Bucky turned to one of the nearby students, a track runner, and began shouting orders to retrieve it. They quickly ran off as soon as he turned back to Steve.   
“It’ll be okay. You’ll be just fine.”   
He placed a hand on his chest, breathing deeply. “Try and follow me, doll. Can you do that?”   
He whispered quietly, trying not to draw too much attention. Steve was definitely a priority, but he could go without coach calling them some sick slur. Especially not Steve.   
He desperately tried to follow, his anxiety slowly ebbing as he followed Bucky’s voice. “There you go. Just like that. You’re doing great.”   
“I got it!” They tossed the small plastic device over to Bucky, who haphazardly caught it before it could hit the ground. “Aim a little better, would ya?!”   
The student backed up quickly, joining the group of spectators that had formed.   
“Hey, we gotta get these meds in ya. Can you do that for me Stevie?”   
He managed to bring the inhaler to his pale lips, administering the drugs slowly. “Breathe that in, it’ll clear everything right up, just like it always does.” He pulled his small hands into his own, trying to warm them up. He was so cold, so fragile, he might’ve broken him if he squeezed too hard.   
As Steve started regain oxygen, Bucky sighed in relief. “There you go. Good job.”   
He turned back to the crowd that had formed, his tone dripping with venom. “Get lost, don’t you have anythin’ else to stare at?!”   
They dispersed almost as fast as they had congregated, shoving their way into the door. Even coach left, not wanting to cause any trouble.   
“Sorry about that sweetheart. You know those assholes love a show-“ “I didn’t…finish.”   
Bucky’s stomach dropped, words stuffed in his throat. He managed to stammer out an answer, if one could even call it that.   
“W-What? Steve, you had an asthma attack. I’m sure it’s warranted.” “I have…to finish. You did.”   
He pulled his frail body closer as he spoke. “And I don’t have a list of health complications a mile long.” “But…I have to. I’m not…weak.”   
He gasped quietly, dwelling in the sweet taste of air.   
“Okay Stevie, let’s finish this lap.”   
He pulled him to his feet, keeping his arm around his shoulders in case he fell. He stumbled as he tried to regain his balance, but eventually found his footing.   
Bucky guided him to the end of the lap, watching his face light up like a Christmas tree once he stepped over the painted line. The look on his face was better than any reward he could have possibly gotten. 

 

December, 1937

Bucky woke up to the sounds of desperate wheezing.   
He immediately shot up, the thin blanket sliding off of his torso. Cold air stabbed at his skin as he quickly crossed over to Steve’s bed.   
Dull wheezes shoved their way out of his slightly blue lips, overriding his desperation to call out to Bucky. His hands were clutching the front of his shirt for dear life as he curled in on himself, body shaking violently with each cough. Tears flowed down his cheeks steadily and dripped onto the mattress.   
“Holy fuck-hey, Stevie, you’re okay.” He immediately scooped him up, relocating to his bed. “You’ll be okay. Let’s get you sitting up.”   
He positioned Steve in his lap, back to chest. His legs were straddling his smaller waist, hands rubbing soft circles over his chest. “You gotta breathe with me punk, you’re turnin’ blue.”   
He forced Steve to sit up, breathing deeply in hopes that he’d begin to mimic the action.   
“You’re just fine. You’re not goin’ anywhere. I’m right here.”   
After a minute or two of deep breathing, Steve forced out two words.   
“Chest-hurts.”   
Bucky nodded, palming his chest lightly. “Don’t worry ‘bout talkin’ right now. Just relax. We’ll fix you up real quick.”   
He pressed small kisses to his head every few moments, silently planning to put in more hours so he could finally afford to get Steve that inhaler he needed so badly. He hated having to see him like this, hands clenched into fists as he gasped loudly for air that just couldn’t get into his lungs. It hurt to come home in the evening to see Steve curled up on the ratty couch, crying silently as his airways closed up so tightly he couldn’t even wheeze. Bucky did everything he could to keep him steady and breathing, but sometimes, it was too much.   
“It’ll be fine. Just focus on my breathing doll.”   
Once his gasping evaporated lightly, Bucky managed to calm down enough that he could retrieve the blanket from the foot of the bed to wrap around him. “Let’s keep those shitty lungs warm, hm?”   
“Don’t…swear.”   
Bucky hesitated before he started laughing. His shaking chest managed to nudge Steve into a coughing fit, quickly regretting his outburst.   
“I’m sorry Stevie, it’s just…you’re wheezin’ and turnin’ blue, and you’re still focused on keepin’ my mouth clean.”   
He kissed his forehead softly, gently rubbing his back. Steve pulled himself into Bucky’s larger form, finding comfort in his warmth.   
“I love that about you, punk.”   
They stayed like that for a while, curled up on the mattress, holding onto the other for dear life. Steve managed to slip into an uneasy slumber, but Bucky never shut an eye. 

 

June, 1943

“You’re…shipping out to…England?”   
“Tomorrow morning.” Bucky’s expression dropped once the realization hit him.   
Steve would be here. Alone. With nobody to watch over him.   
“I’ll come right back, you know that doll. I wouldn’t leave my best man here in the states while I’m in England, would I?”   
He quickly pulled on his uniform, watching as Steve did the same. He watched his thin arms take cover in his sleeves, drowning in the fabric. He always loved seeing him in his shirts, about a foot left in all directions. It reminded him just how small he really was. “Let’s have a nice night, hm?” “Yeah, let’s.” 

He allowed Bucky to go dancing alone. He didn’t want to watch as his partner spent the night with someone else in his arms. He knew it was for the sake of concealment. Steve was very aware of how anyone who disagreed with the heteronormativity of the city was treated. If he wanted to serve, he had to act like a ‘real man’. He just wanted to be the one in Bucky’s arms, spinning and laughing, feeling his hands pull his weak body closer.   
He wanted to be his, just for one more night.   
Steve took refuge in their room, curled up on his bed with the thin blanket shrouding his body. His lungs heaved with each cold, dry breath, the realization that the window was left open hitting him much too late. It certainly didn’t help that he had rivers of tears pouring from his eyes and dripping onto the sheets. He moved to get up, wanting to prevent the inevitable, only to realize he couldn’t move.   
Anytime he nudged himself in a direction, his lungs would violently constrict, shoving any oxygen he managed to obtain out. He couldn’t even stand to retrieve his inhaler from their shared dresser. Bucky’s words slammed into his head, ricocheting off his skull.   
_‘You gotta sit up Stevie, you gotta open your airway.’ ___  
But Bucky wasn’t here. He was out with those girls, whatever their names were, entertaining them for the night. He was twirling them around on the wooden floor, their laughs clashing in a cacophony of elation. Bucky was with them while he was sitting on the bed, curled into a ball, air everywhere but where it needed to be. Bucky was out while he was having an asthma attack, perhaps the last thing he would ever do.  
His wheezing stopped. He couldn’t get enough air in to make the noise. Instead, he was left silently gasping, clawing at the blankets, desperate for the feeling of something warm, something calm, something to ground him and get his goddamn inhaler that he was clearly too stupid to get himself. His seclusion resulted in the horrific conclusion that maybe this was it. Of his long list of health complications, an asthma attack was going to be the thing to take him down. Soldiers were on the field, giving their lives in the name of freedom, and Steven Grant Rogers was laying in bed and crying while he died.   
He was so preoccupied with his suffering, he didn’t even hear the door slam open. 

___“Steve! I’ve got some of that soda you like!”_  
He set the bottles on the table, shedding his uniform jacket and cap. He’d been out for much longer than he anticipated, and eventually the guilt of leaving Steve behind was gnawing at his leg. He decided to ditch the girls early, or rather, much too late for his liking, and spend the rest of the evening with Steve.   
However, he was met with silence.   
“Steve? I’m so sorry for leaving you doll, I should’ve told those two to-“   
He stopped at arms length from the bedroom door, light shuffling catching his attention.   
Steve always answered, even if he was upset with him. If something was wrong, he would hear sobs or wheezing. But instead, he heard silence.   
That meant one horrifying thing-he couldn’t breathe enough to wheeze. 

___Bucky slammed the door open, his assumption correct. Steve had pressed himself against the wall, lips a sickly blue color they definitely shouldn’t be._  
Dear god, how long had he been like this?  
“Steve, dear lord, hang on punk-“  
He frantically rushed to the window, slamming it shut with a violent thud. He proceeded to their dresser, swiping the inhaler off the top. He sat next to Steve, helping him uncurl from his position.   
“You gotta take this doll, you gotta sit up.”   
Once he managed to open his lungs as much as possible, he helped him inhale the medication. The canister clicked as it went down, Bucky doing everything he could to help him take in as much as possible.   
“Come on baby, come on…”   
After a few agonizing moments, a deep gasp wracked his ears. Steve reached forward, finding Bucky’s shirt before he found him. He finally had enough air to be thrown into a coughing fit, clenching fistfuls of his shirt in his fingers.   
“Hey, it’s okay. You’ll be okay doll. It’ll be okay.”   
Bucky did what he could to get him to sit up, trying to ease him into taking a steady breath.   
That was, until he gagged so hard he vomited on the floor.   
He merely pushed his hair back, rubbing his back softly until he finished retching. “Calm down Stevie. It’ll be just fine. I’m right here, ‘m not goin’ anywhere.”   
He leaned back onto Bucky’s shoulder, waiting as the medication filtered through his lungs.   
“You wanna use that inhaler again?”   
He quickly shook his head, outstretched hands begging for contact. A small laugh emitted from his chest as he brought his broad hand to rest on Steve’s shaking chest.   
“It’ll be just fine. I’ll be right here the whole time.”   
After what seemed like hours, he finally came back down. His panic morphed into exhaustion as he collapsed into Bucky, deriving comfort from contact. “Please…don’t go.”   
“Steve…”   
He didn’t want to leave him. He didn’t want to be halfway across the world when Steve woke up from one of his fits, crying and wheezing and begging for help. He didn’t want to come back to find out that his best man was dead, all because he hadn’t gotten there in time.   
“I’ll always come back Steve. I’ll always come back to you.”   
Bucky stayed up with him the entire night, cleaning the floor and periodically refilling the cup of water he fetched for Steve. He held him close, discussing what they would do when he came back, and just how he’d make things up to him. 

__

__April, 2017_ _

___Bucky heard himself scream before he realized he was awake.  
His surroundings slowly came into focus, the warmth of the apartment coaxing him back into reality. He must have passed out on the couch, considering he was alone. Steve probably left him there to sleep and was safe in his bed. However, his absence created an anxious cloud that consumed his thoughts like algal bloom. He quickly went through his grounding method, squeezing his thighs tightly.   
It wasn’t the 40s. Steve was safe. He was safe. Nobody was hurting them. They were okay.   
Wait… _was _Steve okay?  
He managed to stand up, preparing himself to step into the most likely occupied bedroom, when he heard the door slam open.   
“Bucky?”   
That’s when he heard it.   
Hyperventilating.   
He went into autopilot for a moment, any previous knowledge disregarded.   
Steve was having an asthma attack. He was having an asthma attack and Bucky wasn’t there. He’d been on the couch and he wasn’t there when he woke up and he was having an _asthma attack. ______  
He immediately forced himself towards the bedroom, finding himself face to face with Steve. He was breathing hard, shoulders slouched forward. “Buck?”  
“Hey, I’m right here, you’re okay.” He pushed past him, pulling him into the room. “You’ll be fine.”   
“Buck? What are you-“   
He was quickly set on the bed, recognizing the frantic look in Bucky’s eyes.   
This was concerningly familiar.   
He was digging in their shared dresser, searching for something Steve was unaware of.   
“Where the fuck-sorry Stevie. Where is it? Come on, it’s gotta be here-“ “Bucky, what’s going on?”   
He was still a little out of breath.   
After hearing Bucky scream, he jumped out of bed, shoving on a pair of sweats and throwing himself into the hallway in record speed. Normally, he’d be fine, but he was caught off guard.   
“Where the hell is it?!”   
He turned back to Steve, forcing a smile. “It’s okay doll, I’ll find it. Hang in there.”   
He dug through neatly folded clothes, fingers begging to meet plastic. He had to find his inhaler. Steve was having an asthma attack and if he didn’t find it, he’d only get worse. He had to find it. He had to.  
“Bucky, please-“   
“Fuck!”   
He slammed the drawer shut, making Steve jump. He back up towards the headboard as Bucky pulled his hair back.   
“I can’t find it. I can’t find it. I can’t find it. Goddamnit, why can’t I find it?”   
He took a deep breath, turning back to Steve. “It’s okay. We’re just gonna lay down for a bit, okay? You’re gonna be just fine Stevie. I’ll make sure of it.”   
It clicked.   
He was looking for his inhaler. Bucky thought he was having another asthma attack.   
“Hey, Buck, I’m okay. I can breathe.”   
“I can’t find it. I’m so sorry Stevie, I can’t find it-“ “hey.”   
Steve stood up from the bed, approaching Bucky cautiously. “I’m just fine.” He reached out to touch him, only to be pulled into a comforting embrace. Normally, his hugs could crush a man like a robin’s egg, but he was so delicate. Like he was giving him room to breathe.   
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”   
He dug his fingers into Steve’s shirt, burying his face in the crook of his neck. “I’m so sorry I left you. I’m so fucking sorry.”   
“Oh Buck…” he wrapped his broad arms around the sobbing form in his grasp, pulling him closer. He rubbed soft circles into his back, a motion he remembered Bucky repeating many times back in the day. “I can breathe, love. Listen. I’m breathing. You didn’t leave me. I’m right here.”   
“I shouldn’t have left you. I’m so sorry.” He only sobbed harder, clinging to Steve like a scared child. “I should’ve stayed.”   
“Shh, it’s okay.” He pressed a small kiss to his forehead, smiling softly. “We’re okay, I promise.”   
This time, it was his turn to ease them onto the bed, cradling Bucky in his arms. He whispered light encouragement to him every once in a while, reminding him that his asthmatic days were long gone. They would be okay. It wasn’t his fault. He did the right thing.   
Bucky managed to slip into an exhausted slumber, listening to Steve’s steady, even breaths. On the contrary, he stayed up most of the night, maintaining a steady rhythm to keep Bucky at ease. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always welcome! Thank you so much!


End file.
